On the Campus: October 9, 1996

THE TRAY OF TRUTH
Illuminating the illicit inscriptions of an unusual Princeton forum: Graffiti
BY DAVE ITZKOFF '98

Clearly, whoever designed the bathrooms of Witherspoon Hall was dyslexic -- they put doors on the showers and curtains on the toilets. This monumental design flaw not only destroys any illusions of privacy in a shared bathroom, but also makes it impossible to write any graffiti in the stalls. But as we all know from our Orange Key-guided campus tours, these were the first indoor bathrooms on Princeton's (or any other college's) campus, so I suppose the absence of graffiti was an even trade for the privilege of running water. I mean, YOU try carving a dirty limerick into the door of an outhouse. It's not easy.

It's a bigger deal than you might think: while A CAPPELLA continues to thrive on this campus like the Ebola virus, graffiti is slowly dying out as an art form at Princeton. Befitting a student body of future Nobel laureates and tax cheats, Princeton graffiti was once an outlet for our seemingly boundless creativity and energy. Examination of our walls, doors and fireplaces would reveal everything from discussions of Socrates, to expert advice for those confused about their love and sex lives, to parodies of MADAME BOVARY, to a list of sophisticated techniques for proving that 1+1=2 (in the Physics department bathrooms, of course).

These days, you're lucky if you get anything beyond the standard "here I sit, broken-hearted" variety of graffiti. People aren't making the effort anymore. Part of the problem is logistical, that there's just no more good space to write on. Even in the 20,000 or so seats in McCosh 10, not one single, crumbly, termite-eaten desk has room for a simple "Go Tigers." I'll never get to be part of the PJ's Pancake House legacy, either, because all the Princetonians who came before me filled up every inch of every table with THEIR stinky initials. Who cares about history -- what about me?

The university doesn't seem to have much interest in preserving its cultural heritage, either. Though DDS assures us the summer renovations in the Rocky dining hall were made to improve traffic flow and increase the available number of "dining options" (by this I think they meant "food"), these were empty promises, because the lines are still worse than INDEPENDENCE DAY on opening night and regardless of how many variations they offer, crappy food still equals crappy food. This so-called remodeling project was, no doubt, a front for a sinister plot to rid the dining hall of all its graffiti.

Because along with the old floor tile and the Tab soda fountains, out went the familiar green Rocky trays. Out went the hours and hours that resourceful students had spent carving into the trays with their meager serrated butter knives, carefully crafting such proclamations as "I Hate Physics 103" and "Stone Temple Pilots Rule," and providing their trays with clever names like "Une Deux Tray" (funny if you know French) and "Tray You, Tray Me" (funny if you know Lionel Richie songs). Adding insult to injury, the new replacement trays are WHITE -- even if you could hack through their near-impenetrable layer of graffiti-proof shellac, your engravings would be invisible and all in vain.

My passion for these lost relics stems from the knowledge that the single greatest piece of Old Nassau graffiti ever is now sitting at the bottom of a New Jersey landfill. It was a dining hall tray called "The Tray of Truth" -- its focal point was a painstakingly constructed pie-chart which ambitiously tried to classify every woman on the Princeton campus. According to this particular scholar's research, most women fell into the categories of "chunky skanks," "ugly bitches," or "the two-dollar crowd," but a select percentage earned higher regard as "mediocre chicks with hot chick-attitudes." A tiny sliver of the pie was granted to Emily Reber '96, for several years deemed by many to be The Most Attractive Woman at Princeton.

The real tragedy about the Tray of Truth is that it is an anonymous work -- we will never know who its author was. It boggles the mind to conceive of a Princeton undergraduate taking a full course load still finding the time to conduct this extensive research alone; the multiple meals he (for the author could only have been a male) sat in private, preparing his presentation in a medium as thankless as a simple dining hall tray; and so great was his dedication to science that he could not bear to impugn the accuracy of his data by taking credit for the study. Though Thomas Jefferson was forced to share the signing of the Declaration of Independence with several other men who had nothing to do with the document's creation, his nobility pales in comparison to this supreme act of selflessness.

Maybe that's why the Tray of Truth's author failed to sign his work, to enjoy that unique adrenaline rush that comes from hearing others talk about your work without realizing you're the mastermind behind it all (Are you listening, Joe Klein?). While I can't officially condone the defacement of university property, I can still make an effort to point out and celebrate good graffiti when I see it, on the outside chance that its creator might be paying attention. And the next time you find yourself in a bathroom, be sure to carry a pen -- so you can copy what you've read, of course . . .

-Dave Itzkoff '98
Dave Itzkoff interned at MTV in New York City this summer.
STUDENTS ORCHESTRATE A TRADITION
Virtuoso undergraduates find a talented community of classical musicians at Princeton
BY JEREMY CAPLAN '97

YOU'VE PROBABLY heard an earful about the renaissance that Tiger athletics have undergone. It's likely you also know about the university's streak of Nobel prizes. You may have missed another important development, however-one that has made a radical difference in the experience of many undergraduates at Princeton. Over the last two decades, the classical-music scene has grown from a collection of industrious but lonely individuals into a community of performers.
When I was a starry-eyed high schooler in search of a college, music teachers and friends advised that if I wanted to continue playing violin seriously, I had better look closely at Yale or at conservatories like Julliard or Oberlin. Princeton had a storied history as a center for the study of composition and musicology, I was counseled, but performance was not a part of that tradition.
After visiting the campus and witnessing a rehearsal of Beethoven's Ninth, though, I saw that Princeton in fact had a blossoming community of instrumentalists. While not as polished as a conservatory ensemble, most of the musicians were playing for the love of their instruments, not to prepare for a career in music. The performance that weekend was sold out. Even President Shapiro attended and raved about the concert.
Concerts like this one, which convinced me to apply to Princeton, are the culmination of a movement that began about the time symphony conductor Michael Pratt arrived in 1977. "The attitude at Princeton used to be: performance is what conservatories are for," says Pratt. "But as more and more musicians arrived on campus trained as performers, the level of frustration with that attitude rose." He led a dramatic effort to strengthen the orchestra, building what had been a small, haphazard group into a full-fledged symphony orchestra, which now tours internationally (including recent trips to England and through Eastern Europe), plays several programs a year in Richardson Auditorium, and appears at special events. (Last June the orchestra played a pops concert as part of the 250th celebration. It will play on October 25 as part of the Charter Day celebration on campus.) In addition to the symphony orchestra, there is an active chamber orchestra, the "Symphonia," whose existence reflects a sea-change in the music scene on campus; 30 years ago, there were barely enough instrumentalists to put together a single group, let alone two.
Since the late 1970s, the growth of the orchestra has paralleled an increasing interest in musical performance. And when artists like Matt Haimovitz '93 (a cellist who has recorded several CDs for Deutsche Grammaphone) came to Princeton, it spurred demand for academic recognition of musicians. In 1991 the faculty approved a certificate in performance, and the music department began to subsidize private lessons and established a series of "masterclasses."
Another important element that strengthened classical music on campus has been a course in performance, Music 213. "It had been offered as a chamber-music course on occasion . . . and students loved it," Pratt says. Music 213 became a regular offering with the initiation of the program in musical performance. Twice in the last three years, members of the Brentano String Quartet have taught the course, which is a bit like having the Chicago Bulls coach a student basketball team. The presence of such performers fortifies student interest and attracts new musicians.
Although the performance scene has brightened in recent years, some difficulties remain. Students who elect to take lessons are assigned a teacher from a small pool of instructors who teach on campus. The limited choice of teachers leads some students to discontinue their private study; others travel off campus for lessons. Last year more than half the orchestra's violinists studied with teachers not affiliated with Princeton.
Another hurdle for students is the selectivity of the certificate program. Only six applicants were accepted in auditions last spring, leaving many students out of the program. According to Pratt, a tight budget and university cuts have forced the program to remain small. Perhaps with university support the program will grow, as have the Theater and Dance and Visual Arts programs. It's unfortunate that committed, capable performers have to be kept out of such a worthwhile endeavor.
When the renovation of the Woolworth Center is completed next August, the music department will have a new home that should alleviate a shortage of practice rooms-a problem in the old building. Two trailers and a handful of language-lab reject modules have been used as makeshift practice space while Woolworth is renovated, but they have been woefully inadequate, leading some students to give up practicing and others to seek out empty classrooms or bathrooms.
Until next year, the musical community will eagerly await its fresh new building. Next time you're on campus, stop by and have a listen. You might be surprised by what you hear.
Jeremy Caplan is a violinist in the University Orchestra and is earning a certificate in musical performance.

paw@princeton.edu